


The Man from OBSIDIAN

by Steerpike13713, Zappy



Series: Mila Verse [13]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: First Dates, Holodecks/Holosuites, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steerpike13713/pseuds/Steerpike13713, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zappy/pseuds/Zappy
Summary: After the reality shifting events of "The Wire" and "Crossover", Julian has the bravery to ask Garak out on a date. It goes...mostly smoothly, though completely unexpectedly.





	The Man from OBSIDIAN

**Author's Note:**

> Spy games. Expect all the spy games. The title is taken as a variation of "The Man from UNCLE" as it is something I am 100% certain Julian would enjoy, and even Garak might get a kick out of it.
> 
> Written with help from the wonderful Cat, who helps broaden my spy-genre repertoire.

As beginnings to a relationship went, theirs could, Julian thought, have gone better. It could, for example, have involved less shouting, no actual physical torture and…well, at least _fewer_ lies. It would also, ideally, involve one participant not being a genetic augment whose very existence was a crime and the other not being a former operative of the Obsidian Order who probably hadn’t been lying about all the crimes he’d committed, but Julian probably wouldn’t have been interested if that weren’t the case. Still, that was no reason not to do things the right way now they’d started. Julian had dug out the one outfit he owned that _didn’t_ make Garak wince at the sight of it, gone to some trouble to find a holoprogramme that might appeal to both their tastes and called in a favour from Dax to get her to babysit Mila for the evening. Still, he couldn’t help but feel oddly nervous when he knocked on the door of Garak’s quarters that evening, datarod in hand. Not of Garak himself, exactly, but…well, it had taken a full-blown argument to get Garak to believe Julian was interested at all, and it still wasn’t too late for him to decide to back out.

The door to Garak’s quarters opened a moment after Julian requested entrance, to reveal Garak with a look of mild surprise on his face. “My dear doctor, you’re not only on time for once, you’re _early_!”

Julian grinned, “Mila pretty much rushed me out of the door the moment I got her to Dax’s,” he said, “I’m not sure what they were planning to do with the evening, but it’s probably going to leave me owing Dax another favour or two.”

“All this, just for a single evening?”

“I live to impress,” Julian said wryly. “Is it working?”

“You are remarkably unsubtle. You’re not supposed to _ask_ …you observe to see it is or not. Asking just ends the game.” Garak teased with a smirk.

“Patience was never my strong suit,” Julian said agreeably. “I’ve booked us a holosuite - thought it might be a bit more private than dinner at Quark’s, and it’s a chance to introduce you to a genre of human literature I don’t think I’ve mentioned before.”

“Oh? Well, I thank you for opting for the more private option, though I think I’ll have a word with Quark before we start…”

Julian raised his eyebrows, “I hadn’t heard he recorded goings-on inside the holosuites.” At least, he hoped Quark didn’t - there were a few things Julian didn’t want _anyone_ knowing, even - make that especially - Garak.

Garak offered a wide smile, “Surely not. But it’s best to err on the side of caution.”

“Great. Shall we go, then?” Julian gestured broadly down the corridor, trying to resist the urge to fidget.

As they walked the hallway towards Quark’s, Garak’s eyes never once left Julian. “Tell me, just what genre are we experiencing?”

Julian grinned. “Spy fiction,” he said, “Do you have that on Cardassia? Or - is it considered seditious?”

For once, Garak’s surprised expression seemed honest. “Spy _fiction_? You have…a genre of literature where you reveal the secrets of your intelligence agencies?”

“…not quite.” Julian paused, trying to consider how to explain it. “A lot of the first writers in the genre were involved with intelligence - Ian Fleming was, and John Le Carre - but the genre…evolved beyond strict realism quite quickly. Well, Fleming’s did. Le Carre is a bit more grounded - remind me to lend you _The Spy Who Came in From the Cold_ at some point, I think you’d like it. It’s cynical enough to appeal to you.”

“I’m not sure I believe you, from past experiences of you lending me books you think I’d like…”

“You admitted to quite liking _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” Julian pointed out, stung.

“Compared to the _others_ , yes, until the end. Really, that book is unfinished.” Garak sniffed, looking for all the world like it was a crime to leave _Pride and Prejudice_ as it was.

Julian stared. “It’s considered to have one of the neatest endings in literature - everything’s tied up, everyone’s married off, we know what happens to everyone…It’s actually been criticised for being a bit _too_ finished.”

“ _Too_ finished! We know nothing of what happens next, it really is very frustrating-” Garak stopped and smiled, “But I believe we’ve gotten distracted. Tell me more about this… _spy_ genre?”

Julian nodded, and tried to marshal what he knew. “Well, the genre is divided into several…I tend to think of them as ‘flavours’? The Le Carre-style very gritty, low-key approach, which tends to focus on political double-dealing, grey morality and the awful things people have to do to serve their countries and their causes at the cost of their own morals is one…but it’s not the only one, or even the most popular.” He grinned. “Then, there’s the style I tend to think of as ‘martini-flavoured’. Wildly unrealistic, fraught with improbably over-the-top-danger…there’s usually a deathtrap or two involved…sort of the glamorised image of what spying involved, although there were one or two people out there who actually did live that way, if we’re to believe the historical record. Granted, they usually didn’t do it for very _long_ , but-”

“ _Fascinating_. And which…flavor…are we trying?”

Julian grinned, “That would be option number three. Affectionately referred to in fan circles as ‘dirty martini’. It’s…marrying the two, I suppose. A lot of the absurdity and glamour of martini-style, but with the heavier political themes, grey morality and a bit of the cynicism of the first kind. It seemed like a good compromise.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll withhold judgement until after the game. Though, I’ll tell you now, that I’ll likely not be interested in just the…martini-flavoured. As a tailor, I take these things very seriously.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “I am _shocked_ ,” he said teasingly, “ _Shocked_ that you mean to pass up such an opportunity to mock our absurd Federation romanticism.”

Garak slowly looked Julian up and down before give a half smile, “Well…when you put it like that…perhaps I _will_ consider it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Julian coughed. “This particular story is actually a few centuries old, and it’s been retold so many times that no-one quite agrees on what the proper characterisation should be, so we’re more-or-less free to do as we like. The original was actually partly written by Fleming in the early 1960s, so…four hundred years ago, give or take. It’s set around then as well and, unlike Fleming’s other stories, hasn’t been updated with the times. The history is kind of vital to the plot, for this one.”

“Vital? In what way?” Garak asked curiously, looking at least partially interested in the game, even if the rest of his attention was more on what Julian was wearing. He’d apparently chosen well.

Julian took a breath. “For most of the second half of the twentieth century, Earth was engaged in a cold war between two powerful nation-states. The Soviet Union and the…well, mostly the United States, but most of Europe, a fair bit of Asia and South America got involved as well. On both sides. Both sides knew that an all-out war would mean the annihilation of pretty much everything on the planet, so they tended to work through proxies and spies for the most part. The early James Bond stories used this as a backdrop, mostly but for this story it’s actually integral to the plot, as the two lead characters are from different sides of the Cold War. Illya Kuryakin, a Soviet agent, and Napoleon Solo, an American.”

“And what exactly was this war about? The climate?”

Julian shrugged, “Officially, political ideology, unofficially…probably power, control of as much of the globe as possible. And a bit of ideology. America and much of western Europe operated under a capitalist system, whereas the Soviets…at least claimed to have something a bit more like the modern Federation. Except backed up with the threat of horrifying prison camps, mass executions and torture. Oh, and quite a lot of corruption because this was pre-replicator technology and so the ‘sharing out’ of scarce resources tended to favour the ruling elite. It’s actually what led to-” What led to the Eugenics Wars, which had put an end to the Cold War by bombing Washington and Moscow simultaneously, breaking their power and establishing a new player on the board.

Garak raised a brow-ridge at Julian’s half sentence, but appeared to decide not to press him to finish it, “So a Federation that admits to what it is. Admittedly, perhaps a bit harsher in its methods than what would be done nowadays, I’m sure.”

“I like to think we’ve moved beyond that,” Julian said stiffly, and moved on before he could dwell on it any longer. “Either way. The story we’re going to play through is set in 1963, when two agents, one from each side of the Cold War, are forced to work together to solve a problem that affects both their governments. They then get assigned together permanently in an international taskforce intended to help keep their governments from destroying each other and the whole world with them.”

Garak blinked, “Rather a lot to put onto the shoulders of two agents.”

Julian shrugged, “Most adaptations agree it was largely a political gesture. And a way of avoiding any appearance of partisanship on either side, as the two of them would both naturally look out for the interests of their own side and, hopefully, keep each other honest. If you had two agents from either side, they could be accused of advancing their own interests at the expense of the other side, which would lead to an increase in tensions and possibly eventual war. And that’s leaving aside how many maniacal private citizens with access to advanced technology and an insatiable desire to destroy the world for their own profit seem to crop up in these things.”

“And these agents did not kill each other? I hardly see how one master liar could keep another honest.”

Julian smiled, as wickedly as he could manage. “Neither of them wanted the world to be blown up?” he suggested idly. “Also, in every single adaptation there has ever been, they’re _at least_ close friends, and sometimes more.”

Garak snorted, “And their agencies allowed this? Well, you did say this was _fictional_ …”

“In most versions, they go to a great deal of trouble to make sure their agencies don’t know. Same-sex entanglements were illegal in both the Soviet Union and the West during this period, even if they weren’t enemy agents. There are a fair few versions of the story where it ends pretty tragically, even if they aren’t my favourite - the real world’s miserable enough without inevitable defeat in the holosuite as well.”

“I don’t quite understand humanity’s struggle in accepting same-sex liaisons. There’s not even a chance for bastards in that case, just who does it harm?”

Julian shrugged, “Not my area. I think it was mostly religious, but I’d have to look it up. So…” he grinned, “You’ve got a choice of two characters - which side of the Iron Curtain do you want?”

Garak gave him a wry smile, “Which side do you think, my dear doctor? Though, tell me more about the agents themselves, what are their…basic personality traits?”

“…that is the most complicated question in the whole game,” Julian admitted. “They’ve been changed so often over the centuries it’s pretty much a free-for-all. Some bits of backstory have stuck around, though. Um…Solo, the American agent, is a former art thief on a very, very short leash. Got captured by the CIA and decided working for them was a step up from a decade in prison. His actual personality changes a lot between adaptations, though, as do his skills. And since the holosuite version lets you choose between quite a few different options there, it’s not really relevant. The other, one, Kuryakin…” he paused, trying to remember. “Born to a high-ranking member of the Soviet government who got convicted of treason and sent to the gulags - prison camps - after which his mother turned to prostitution to survive. He…varies even more than Solo, honestly. Sometimes to the point of being barely recognisable as the same character.”

“Why keep the names if you’re just going to change the core of the characters…” Garak sighed and shook his head, “I’ll pick Kuryakin. I have a feeling you like Solo more, being from the insufferably idealist State?”

“…what part of ‘capitalist’ says ‘idealistic’? Ideologically, I probably have more in common with the other side.” Julian sighed. “But, yes, I like him.”

“Perhaps not the correct word, agreed. Though I didn’t think you’d ever want to be part of a State that had prison camps, no matter how illusory the setting may be.”

Julian nodded. They were coming up to Quark’s now, the promenade still quietly busy with evening traffic. Quark himself was at the bar when they entered, and Garak smiled, wide and slightly predatory. He turned to Julian and wordlessly asked for his hand, which Julian gave with some bemusement. Garak brought it to his throat, or rather, just below it and held Julian’s hand there for a moment before saying, “If you’ll excuse me a moment?”

Garak disappeared off towards the bar, and Julian watched him go, feeling for a moment oddly giddy. _Get a grip_ , he reminded himself. _You’re an adult, act like one._ But he was almost bubbling over with excitement now, even as he watched Quark’s expression freeze at the sight of Garak. He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he got the impression that the conversation was going all Garak’s way.

He craned his neck to try and get a better look, but before he did, Garak smiled, wide and apparently friendly, and stepped away, turning back towards Julian and snaking through the crowds to take his arm.

“Well?” he said. “Shall we, doctor?” and nodded towards the door through to the holosuites.

* * *

After choosing their characters on the panel before entering, Julian and he went different directions, to receive their briefings from their superiors. The entire situation was…remarkably close to reality, though he wouldn’t ever admit as much to Julian. Certainly not so soon after his recent visit to the infirmary. The moment his superior started speaking, his back straightened and he had his full attention on the slides as the information and his mission parameters were given.

“-the woman is, in and of herself, unimportant, but the information she holds cannot be allowed to fall into American hands,” his superior was saying. “Bring her back. Alive, if possible, but if not…we will understand. As for your opposite number-”

The slides clicked on. Julian’s face filled the screen. It was, Regnar had to admit, a clever bit of programming - Julian in some sort of military uniform of this century, smiling the familiar sweet foolish smile Regnar had got to know over so many lunches.

“-not typical of American spies,” his superior went on. “Indeed, he barely deserves the title. Less an agent than a useful tool. He joined the army at eighteen and was posted to Europe. When the war ended, he stayed on as part of the occupying forces, and soon discovered that there were vast profits to be made on the post-war black market. He seems to have dealt primarily in art and antiquities, stolen by Nazi forces and then by the Allied occupiers. He seems entirely self-taught, but do not underestimate him. His criminal ingenuity made headlines all over Europe. The police of four countries created a special task force for the sole purpose of bringing him to justice. And even then, it seems to have been pure luck that they caught him. His talents came to the attention of the CIA, who recognised that-” the next slide was put in upside-down, making his superior glare at the unfortunate projectionist, who apologised in a shaking voice. That one would be bound for the labour camps before long, Regnar thought.

“-who recognised,” his superior went on, “That this man’s extraordinary talents would be wasted behind bars. A deal was struck. Since then, Bashir has been their most successful and prolific agent. Kill him if necessary. But he must not leave Berlin with the woman.”

“Yes, sir.” Regnar replied promptly.

His superior nodded. “And, Agent Garak-”

He paused. His mind reeled and he barely resisted the urge to shake his head. Had he just- yes, yes he had, and he hadn’t even _meant_ to… Garak’s posture changed just a bit and he turned his head to hear what the holo-superior was saying.

“-you know the consequences of failure.”

Oh, he most certainly did. “Yes, sir.”

Garak was escorted to retrieve the weapons available to him for the mission. They were all rather primitive, projectile weapons were practically primeval. They also gave him information on where he was going, which Garak was sure wouldn’t have occurred if he were really of this time period, as he’d have been expected to keep up on the state of affairs on his own. He was rather grateful for this further proof of fallacy. The city was cut in half, not for geographical reasons but political. How this was sustainable, Garak didn’t know. The basics of his mission were preventing one person from going from one half of the city to the other. Easy enough, especially with a wall as an obvious indicator of where that line was. Yes, Garak believed this could be a fun game, so long as he remembered it was a _game_.

Scene-transitions, in the holosuite, were always a bit unrealistic. In this case, Garak stepped out of a building in what he had been assured was Moscow, and into-

The city was grey. As grey as Romulus, almost, and Garak did not say that lightly. Grey and brown and brick and concrete and looked as if it had been levelled and rebuilt from the ground up at some point in the recent past. It was, put simply, the single least glamorous location Garak could imagine. Apparently Julian’s description of the subtypes of the spy genre had been rather more broad-strokes than he had made it sound.

There was a car waiting, and Garak knew this was the least glorious part of spy-craft, the waiting. Garak was exceedingly patient, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Thankfully, he had to have his whole attention on the people passing from one side of the checkpoint to the other, looking for Julian. When he finally spotted him, Garak had to suppress a smile, he looked even more naive and ripe for the picking than when Garak first laid eyes on him. It was surprisingly difficult to resist the urge to recreate that first meeting, the game’s plotline be damned.

Following Julian from a safe distance was simple, though the man was doing actually quite well in covering his tracks. Not enough to throw Garak off his trail, even if Garak hadn’t already been intimately familiar with his appearance, but enough to give him the impression that Julian had some real potential. Potential that only needed a bit of guidance…. Guidance Garak was only too happy to provide, and which seemed to have been paying off, since Julian managed to actually lose him. For a brief moment. The pride that caused him was a bit staggering and he pushed it down and away for the time being.

Julian’s final destination, it turned out, was a shabby little garage in what seemed to be an even-poorer-than-the-rest-of-it area of the city. He disappeared inside, and Garak hung back, and flicked on the rather neat little bug that he’d been informed that border control would endeavour to secret in Julian’s luggage. It buzzed into life without so much as a flicker, and Garak smirked. Julian had potential, yes…but only potential.

“-and a fat little dog named Schnitzel,” Julian’s voice said, coming out sharp and crackly. Garak stared, and wondered for one mad moment if Julian had actually worked out a code so completely bizarre Garak couldn’t work out what was a euphemism. The accent didn’t help - whoever had told Julian he could imitate accents ought to be shot. “All you need to do is sit down for fifteen minutes with my employers and answer a few questions as fully and as factually as you can. I think we both know it’s a step up from spending the evening with the Russians, hanging from a pipe having your toenails removed.”

Garak couldn’t resist the affronted look he gave the receiver at that, he’d be having a few words with Julian over that once this was all over. The day he needed to resort to such methods as _ripping out toenails_ was the day he retired.

There was the start of another sentence, a woman’s voice. “And your superiors? How will they-” And then the reception cut off with a wet sort of noise, and Garak scowled. Had no-one in this insufferably backwards city thought to invent waterproof bugs yet? With a huff, he lightly tossed the now useless receiver onto the passenger seat and returned his attention to the garage. Not long after, a car left it with only the driver in view. Garak was not to be deterred, and started following them in his own. Twentieth-century automobiles were not, he decided, his favourite means of pursuit. Julian and his contact’s car, though, was going at what seemed to be an ordinary, civilised pace - trying to bluff him into thinking this was just an ordinary night driver? - and it should not take him long to draw level, except that every time he got close, they put on another little kick of speed. Nothing excessive, just enough to stay just out of his range. He considered for a moment, stopped, opened the window, leant out, and took aim at the car’s back tyre. The car skidded, half-spinning, and then-

Put on another, absurd, kick of speed. Limping, yes, half-dragging…but slowed. Slowed and obvious. Hmm. There was a small booth across the street, with an old-fashioned telephone inside it. He stepped inside, and called the police.

“Hello?” he said, using his very best ‘mild and harmless tailor’ voice. “Yes. I’d like to report a kidnapping.” He went on to report, sounding as worried as he could, the terrified, screaming child he’d seen bundled into the back of a black-and-white Trabant car with the right back tyre flat, and hung up feeling quite satisfied with himself. Julian would probably not be best-pleased by the nature of the accusations, but he was the one who brought a genuine Obsidian Order agent into a spy game. Really, it was all his own fault.

It wasn’t difficult, either, to hastily rejigger the receiver to pick up on the local police radio, as reports came in of the black-and-white Trabant being spotted, and soon enough, Garak had a location. He called up the map in his head once again - where could they be going, if their route had taken them there? And then, all at once, he had them.

Figuring that in this case the advantage really did lie with the higher ground, Garak infiltrated a building near the Wall, and made his way up to the roof. He allowed himself a sigh, yet more waiting. It took a few minutes - how long was this part of the programme meant to be? But then, on the next roof over, he saw movement. Julian, and a young woman in khaki-coloured coveralls that did absolutely nothing for her. His quarry. He took aim, but Julian’s body was between him and the woman, and he couldn’t get a clear shot at her. Julian was fidgeting with- No. Flashing a light across the wall. A signal. Garak peered through the scope of the rifle, trying to work out what the plan was. And then- something shot across, from the far side of the wall. A cable, or…yes, a cable. Garak grinned to himself. Oh, surely not. Far, far too simple. Julian offered his hand to the woman, grasped something attached to the cable, and jumped.

He was perhaps halfway across when Garak fired, and the woman in Julian’s arms slumped against him, her head lolling, her grip on him going slack. She fell.

Garak drew back, a faint, satisfied smile on his face, and began matter-of-factly taking the rifle apart. Well. That was the end of that. Julian would probably sulk at being beaten, but Garak was quite sure he could find _something_ to cheer him up. Although, he was rather at a loss to see how this could possibly have ended with their characters becoming _friends_. He could hear Julian’s shocked shout as he left the roof to begin making his way back to his car, but as he opened the door leading to the street, he found himself back in the KGB base. He sighed, he hated holo-scene transitions.

“Agent Garak.” It was his superior again, the same one as before. His handler. “Report.”

“There was no avoiding the target getting across the wall, so I shot them. The American, however, got away.”

His superior nodded. “I heard. His superiors approached us recently.” He smiled tightly, and it did not reach his eyes. “However, this does complicate the situation somewhat. I thought I said _alive_ , if possible.”

“You did. It wasn’t possible.”

His superior glared. It was rather a pathetic glare, as glares went. The memory of Tain’s smile frightened Garak more than this illusion would in a fury. “The most dangerous secret is already out,” he said. “She might be dead, but she didn’t die before telling Bashir the thing we least wanted the Americans to know. The theft of the prototype plans for the next generation of weaponry, the thing which might shift the balance of power decisively in our favour.”

“Next generation of weaponry…sir?” Garak forced himself to add the ‘sir’, wouldn’t do to be perceived as disrespectful or unable to follow orders.

“You don’t need to know what it is, Garak,” his superior said shortly. “But we need to recover those plans, and the Americans are the only ones who know who she sold them to.”

“Does this mean we’re going to have to cooperate with them? It’s very unlikely that is going to work out well.”

“It will work out as we intend it. They’ve put forward a single agent, who will bear witness to the tragic destruction of the plans before either of you can get your hands on them.You will recover those plans, while making it seem to the Americans that they are lost. If they even begin to suspect what those plans are for…” his superior stopped himself. Even that was sloppy - no-one in the Order would even begin to reveal something unless they intended the person they were speaking to to know it. “Well. What happens next will no longer be your concern. They receive very little news in the gulags, I am told.”

“Of course, sir.” Garak almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. “And should the American learn things he shouldn’t?”

“You will have received no formal orders to kill him. His tragic accidental death would be…regrettable…but these things happen.”

“I see. Anything else, sir?”

“Walk with me. A meeting has been set up. Best to give the Americans no reason to doubt our good intentions.”

They walked through a doorway, and suddenly he could smell the waterside. Yet another horrible transition. There were tables all along the deck, overlooking the river. Julian was sitting at one, with what Garak assumed was the man’s own handler. Neither of them looked especially pleased to be there.

“Saunders,” his own superior said curtly.

Garak took a seat directly across from Julian, who was glaring at him with a rather adorable pout. Garak let some of his amusement slip through for a moment before schooling his features.

“Vassilyovich. God, your name is a mouthful. Can’t say that curtly at all. How do you take it?”

Garak’s superior smiled, mirthlessly. “It’s my cross to bear. You’ve briefed your…agent…I take it.” He drew out the word ‘agent’, so that Garak could hear the suggestion of something else underneath it, and though he too had been thinking that Julian would never last long in intelligence, he wanted to bristle regardless.

“Oh, he knows what he needs to.” Saunders waved a hand, and Julian looked as if he bit back a sigh. “Just point him in the right direction.”

“We intend to. Now. Your half of the bargain.”

“You’re impatient. I was enjoying a nice drink, I thought we could take in the scenery. Alright, have it your way. Target’s a former member of the British Union of Fascists, arms magnate, noted collector of antiquities. Name of Sir Arthur Galt. Now, your turn?”

Vassilyovich shifted. “What you’re looking for is a disc. Blue plastic, small enough to hold in your hand. Destroy it if you have to, but it cannot be allowed to remain in Galt’s hands.”

Garak nodded and the handlers exchanged a look before standing. Julian was still glaring at him. “We’ll leave you to get acquainted.” Saunders said with a smug smile, “Play nice.” Saunders clapped Julian on his shoulder as he passed him, causing Julian to flinch slightly. Garak’s eyes followed the handler with cold fury, then widened a little as every other group of diners in the cafe stood and walked out.

“Well,” Garak said brightly, as the last of them left. “This isn’t conspicuous in the least.”

Julian glared at him. “I can’t _believe_ you killed her!”

Garak raised his hands up in defence, “I was ordered to! What was I supposed to do, let you take her across the wall and disobey orders? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t carrying out a mission the point of this game?”

“You could have,” Julian pointed out stubbornly, “It’s a holosuite, they can’t do anything to you if you _don’t_ obey orders. Besides, that wasn’t the mission. That was…a trial run. To get us used to the setting and how the game works before the main plot gets started. I mean, if all we’re going to do is follow orders, we might as well ‘kill’ each other here and now. I know my superiors want me to kill you, and I can guess yours want you to kill me. Does that mean you’re going to?”

“You got orders to kill me? Well that’s unfair, I wasn’t given permission to. Now if you have an _accident_ that’s another story.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “I obviously wasn’t _going_ to!”

“Why not? I killed your informant.” Garak looked around them and waved with an arm, “This is, after all, a holosuite. It won’t actually _do_ anything. At least, it won’t so long as the safeties are on.”

“Yes, but…well.” Julian smiled, wide and bright and startling, “I _am_ trying to get you to agree to another date at the end of the evening. Killing you probably wouldn’t do much for my chances.”

Garak fought the smile that wanted to break through, and instead changed the subject, “My dear- could you please stop talking in that accent. I just, _cannot_ take anything you say seriously.”

Julian actually looked slightly disappointed at that. “If you’re sure,” he said, thankfully without the accent. “I thought I carried it off rather well.”

“I’m not sure who told you that, but they were lying to make you feel better, it is _awful_.” Garak sniffed and offered a small smile to take some of the sting of his words out.

“We’re supposed to be going to Venice, next,” Julian offered, and smiled again, brighter still, “It’s half of why I suggested this game - Venice is supposed to be one of the most beautiful cities on Earth. I thought you’d like to see it.”

“And then probably destroy half of it in our attempts to save the world - you have a curious notion of how to appreciate a place.”

“We don’t _have_ to destroy it,” Julian said, shaking his head, “It just…tends to happen, in these sorts of stories.”

“Of course. By the way…what in the world were you talking about earlier, with the dog?”

Julian groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You heard that?”

“My dear, _of course_ I heard it. You were bugged, I was supposed to be hearing you. Until you shorted it, which, no water-proof bugs? Really? How low tech _is_ this?”

“Fairly - electricity has been used for…maybe a century, at the outside? The technology’s all still fairly basic.”

Garak put his hands on the table and leaned a bit closer, “So, since you were so upset I shot my target, how was it _supposed_ to play out, in a general run-through?”

Julian shrugged, and Garak felt…was that a foot? Yes, he thought it was…hook itself around his ankle, under his trousers and just above the top of his shoe, warm toes digging into his calf. “I was expecting a much more direct pursuit,” he admitted, “I wasn’t reckoning on you somehow working out where we were going ahead of time, which - actually, how _did_ you work that out?”

That foot was going to be distracting, but Garak would not let Julian cause him to trip over his own tongue. “I memorized the city layout, and there were only so many places where the wall was weak, after following you and gauging your general direction, I picked the most probable that you’d take. Then it was just a matter of slowing you down so I could get there first.”

“…that does explain the police cars,” Julian said, sounding slightly dazed. Those toes flexed against Garak’s leg, and then the foot slid down, pushing at the back of Garak’s shoe as if trying to coax it off his foot. “I never had a chance, did I?”

“Not remotely.” Garak replied, his eyes staring intently at Julian. “You ought to know better than to underestimate _me_ , my dear Julian.” Without changing his expression, Garak slipped the foot Julian had been trying to get at out of his shoe and snagged Julian’s foot with his toe-claws.

Julian made quite an appealing soft sound in his throat at that, and Garak suppressed a grin.

“I suppose I should,” Julian agreed, “Though it’ll be interesting to see how this re-shapes the plot. Traditionally, one of us used her to get at the villain of the piece - Sir Arthur Galt, I suppose. This time we’re going to have to work out another way.” He twisted his foot in Garak’s grip, brushing his toes against the underside of Garak’s foot.

Garak’s hands clawed lightly at the table, though he didn’t take his eyes off Julian’s. “Playing this by ear, are we? Be the invisible man, beneath the notice of the target to get right where you need to be to hear everything?”

Julian tapped a finger against his mouth, considering - or pretending to consider. “Well. We _could_ do that. But this is a holosuite. And a game. And there’s at least a _bit_ of martini in this story…we might as well enjoy it.”

“I have yet to see a martini. In fact, I’m getting rather parched.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “Well, we can’t have that. Computer? Two martinis, please.”

Two long-stemmed, triangular glasses garnished with strange round greenish fruit shimmered into view.

Julian gave an apologetic smile, “Not quite the same as the real thing, but it should stave it off a little longer. Anyway, like I was saying…this is a game. We don’t have to do what would be the sane or the sensible or the realistic thing. That’s the _point_ of the holosuites - to do things you’ve never tried before, or would never dare in real life, like-”

“Like ziplining over an active minefield with someone shooting at you?” Garak suggested dryly.

Julian smiled, small and slightly sly. “Exactly like that.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t want to hit you.” Garak said as he grabbed one of the glasses, giving it a sniff before trying a sip. It wasn’t as good as kanar, but it wasn’t as bad as what Quark had on stock. The flavour was still lacking, as all holofoods were.

“The safeties are on,” Julian reminded him, “The bullet brushed right past me. But the point is- is that we could do this the sneaky, sensible way, or we could do it ostentatiously, ridiculously and with absolutely no self-restraint without any risk to ourselves. Besides.” His smile widened, became faintly predatory, and he wriggled his toes again against Garak’s foot. “I rather want to know what you make of the death-trap.”

Garak kept eye contact as he drained his martini glass and licked his lips to get the last of the drops of alcohol. If they were going to continue playing _this_ game, then he needed to stop playing the _other one_ …so he let go of Julian’s foot after he gave it a final squeeze. “Alright, I’m curious…what death-trap?”

“There’s always a death-trap,” Julian said, with the certainty of a man declaring the sky was blue. “The hero - well, one of them - always ends up getting put in it, the villain always leaves before they’re actually dead, and they are always so over complicated and take so long that the hero inevitably escapes anyway. It’s the single stupidest literary convention ever invented by humankind.” For someone talking about their world’s stupidest literary convention, Garak thought, Julian sounded surprisingly gleeful.

“I’m glad you realize just how ridiculous that sounded, and accept it.” Garak said wryly, tilting his head to look at Julian from under his ridges.

“Of course it’s ridiculous,” Julian said, “That’s half the fun.”

“Mm, debatable. But, we’ll see.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you have absolutely no interest in seeing me tied up and dangling over a tank of crocodiles?” he said in a low, purring voice that was as put-on as the accent from before had been, but rather less objectionable. “Completely helpless, bound, entirely at your mercy…”

“Not if _I’m_ not the one who put you there.” Garak replied, “Though you paint a very… _tempting_ …picture.”

Julian grinned. “I’ll add that to the list of future date suggestions,” he said blithely, “We could make it an actual competition - you play the villain and I play the hero and see who comes out on top?”

Garak’s smile was slow and positively devilish, “Enchanting idea, though I think it’ll always end the same… And _I’m_ not one to beg for mercy.”

* * *

“Is this entire city _floating on the water_?” Garak asked, sounding almost breathless as he leaned out of the boat to watch the Grand Canal going by.

Julian laughed, and leant against the bow beside him. “It’s built on a chain of islands,” he said, “It’s mostly held up by anti-gravity, these days - it was sinking for centuries before that.” He didn’t need to ask ‘what do you think’. For once, Garak’s face was entirely readable, and alight with something like bliss.

“I would love to see it now, if this is it sinking.”

Julian swallowed a ‘maybe you will’. It was a very long way from a certainty that Garak would ever be able to, with the way things were tending on Earth right now. “Most of the city’s remained about the same for centuries,” he said instead, “The historic centre has, anyway. I’ve never actually been to the real place, but I’ve heard about it.”

Garak looked back at him for only a moment, but that moment conveyed without words his severe disappointment, “That is a _crime_. You were on the same planet as this place for how many years, and you never went?”

“I went to other places!” Julian said defensively. “Some of them…about as beautiful. I nearly _lived_ in Paris, and it’s about as famous for beauty as Venice is. Just…not quite the same way.”

“Until I see this Paris, I shall continue to judge you.”

“Next time,” Julian promised, recklessly. “Or- There’s Spain. The Alhambra. I saw that on a school trip once. Or…or Cairo.”

“Cairo?” Garak asked curiously, eyes not on Julian as he was still taking in everything around them.

“I was born there,” Julian said simply. “My parents moved away when I was…pretty young…but I still remember parts of it.” He forced a smile, and added, “And it might be a more accommodating climate for you than Paris or London.”

Garak’s attention had flicked back to him and stayed there, and the Cardassian was quiet a moment. “If this temperature is accurate, then Venice is very similar to Cardassia’s winter.” Garak smiled, “Winter is the best time of year, you know.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Julian looked around, “We’re nearly there,” he added, “St Mark’s Square - come on.”

True to his word, the boat - an old-fashioned speedboat, not one of the glossy black gondolas drifting serenely down the canal - drew to a stop just minutes later, and Julian clambered out, doing his best not to slip and slide and horribly aware that he wasn’t succeeding.

Garak had an insufferable smile as he watched Julian flounder, but thankfully said nothing. “Where to next, Agent Bashir?”

“The hotel first - then, there’s this.” He produced something from out of his jacket with a flourish that he would never admit to having practiced. “My superiors have a contact who managed to wrangle an invitation for one…Julius Eaton, plus guest. Apparently Mr Eaton is a dealer in antiquities, and Galt has a passion for those.” The alias wasn’t what he’d have gone for - Julius was just a hair too close to ‘Jules’ - but objecting now would draw attention to it, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Do you have my alias as well, or shall I be creative?”

“Nothing hard-and-fast,” Julian admitted, “If your superiors didn’t provide you with one, I’d say you have the choice.”

“Hmm. What is my character’s name supposed to be, again?”

“Illya Kuryakin,” Julian replied, slightly taken aback. “Though, this _is_ the middle of the Cold War, a Russian name might just cause more trouble.”

Garak gave him a wide-eyed look. “I thought you _wanted_ me to take risks, Mr Eaton?”

“I do. All right, then, _Mr Kuryakin_ , shall we go? It’s all on foot from here, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

Waving one arm, Garak motioned for him to lead the way, “After you.”

Their hotel was, according to the travel documents that had manifested themselves during the scene change, on the Grand Canal itself, an old red building that had probably been a palazzo at some point. It was also almost offensively beautiful, with a view that even made Garak stop bitching under his breath about the utter tastelessness of mid-twentieth-century human decor.

“Should I just pause the game and let you stare for the rest of the programme?” he teased, coming up behind Garak.

“No…” Garak turned to face him with a wicked smile and looked Julian up and down, “There are other beautiful things to look at.”

Julian snorted, “And you have the nerve to criticise my lines?”

Garak’s expression turned innocent, “We’ve only seen part of the city, surely there’s more to it?”

“Definitely, I just don’t know how much the makers of the programme thought players would want to explore.” Julian leant a little against the window-frame, watching Garak as much as the canal outside. “If you like we could go and-” Find out, he had meant to say, but he wasn’t given the chance. Garak’s mouth was on his, Garak pressing him up against the window-frame and making it very difficult to concentrate on suspected Soviet weapons or the end of this whole little holographic world.

Hands snaked their way up his sides and behind his back, pressing him even further into the Cardassian’s chest. Garak’s mouth was cool, and tasted not quite like a human’s, no trace of the holographic martini he’d had earlier lingering on his lips or his tongue. His hands were cool too, even through Julian’s shirt, and when they finally broke apart, Garak’s forehead, bumps and ridges and spoon and all, fell against Julian’s and stayed there.

“I knew you’d be warm, my dear, but I didn’t think you’d run this hot.” Garak murmured, his breath ghosting over Julian’s face, “I dare say it’s going to be…very difficult to let go of you.”

Julian kissed him again, to avoid having to reply, and clung on, pulling Garak closer against him. The fork of Garak’s tongue felt strange against his own, and he could feel rough scaling as he slid a hand up and under Garak’s tunic. Just as Julian was losing himself in Garak, there was a chirp from the computer, and that was all the warning either of them got before the holosuite turned off, and suddenly there was nothing at his back.

With the wall no longer supporting their weight, Julian fell back, Garak right on top of him. Julian let out a grunt as he hit the deck’s floor, and the wind was knocked out of him as Garak’s weight crushed into his chest. This was not how he had been expecting to become breathless.

“Time’s up!” the call came from outside, “I’ve got other customers waiting, y’know!”

Garak shifted on top of him, just enough to look over his shoulder and glare at the Ferengi. Julian couldn’t see Garak’s face, but he did see half of Quark’s as the man nearly yelped and scurried off.

“Garak?” he managed to gasp out, “-can’t breathe-”

Garak’s head snapped back to him, surprised concern written all over his face, “My apologies, my dear!” He put his hands to either side of Julian’s shoulders and lifted himself up, so all his weight was now on his knees and hands and thankfully off of Julian.

“…thanks,” Julian managed, and dragged himself to his feet, tugging Garak up after him with maybe a little more strength than a baseline human should be able to muster. “I suppose we should go,” he added, “Er…” He didn’t especially want the evening to be over yet. “Would you like a drink? A real one? Holograms don’t really help, even if it feels like it. And I’d be interested to hear what you thought of the game.”

The smile Garak gave him would have been answer enough, but Julian was still glad when Garak leaned closer until their noses almost touched and said, “That sounds _delightful_ …”

And then, of course, Julian had to kiss him again, and they were quite happily occupied right up until the sound of something metallic hitting the ground jolted them back to reality. Julian looked around.

“…oh,” he said, in a strangled voice. “Um. Hello, Chief. We were just…uh…”

“On our way out.” Garak finished for him, giving his usual respectful bow to the chief. “Pardon us.”

Miles looked so disturbed it was almost comical, but nodded gruffly and moved aside to let them through, carefully avoiding Julian’s eyes. Julian smiled and sort of shrugged as he followed Garak out, the door of the holosuite sliding shut behind him as he heard the opening chords of the _Flying Aces_ World War Two holoprogramme filtering out into the corridor.

“Drinks?” Garak asked and Julian snapped back to where he was, with Garak’s expectant gaze boring into him.

He paused, for a moment, and then caught Garak’s hand. “I’m starving,” he said, “Do you mind if we get dinner as well? We could go to the Klingon place at the other end of the Promenade?”

“Loud, crowded, and boisterous? Are you sure that’s how you wish to spend your evening?”

“The Vulcan place at _this_ end of the Promenade?” Julian suggested.

Garak gave him a look as if that were no better, “And be judged for our open emotionalism?” Garak’s gaze flicked down to where Julian still held his hand.

“The Celestial Cafe?” Julian tried.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Garak looked like he was questioning Julian’s sanity. “My dear, you recall I am Cardassian? I don’t think they’ll take kindly to my being there.” Just as Julian was beginning to think Garak was just making excuses not to have dinner with him, Garak pulled Julian’s hand back up to the same place he’d put it before. “How about…my quarters? Guaranteed privacy, quiet, and minimal judgement.”

Julian smiled. “I’d like that.” One last remnant of his common sense flared up for a moment. “I have to pick Mila up from Jadzia’s quarters in an hour.”

Garak feigned a put upon look, “Oh, very well. We shall just have to rush through dinner then. One of these days, my dear doctor, you’re going to sit down for a _full_ Cardassian meal.”

“And just what would that involve?” Julian asked.

“You’ll find out, though perhaps we’ll have to work on your table manners first.” Garak smirked widely at that.

Julian huffed. “There is _nothing wrong_ with my table manners!”

“My dear, I have seen people flee from danger slower than you eat. You practically inhale food.”

“So?”

“So? It is terribly rude.”

Julian stared at him. “…you aren’t just saying that because you happen to dislike it, are you?”

“I’ll have you know, that on Cardassia to eat so quickly is extremely rude, as it is either a sign of starvation or disrespect to one’s host.”

Julian blinked. “Really? Where exactly did that idea come from? Mightn’t a person simply be busy? Or in a hurry for some other reason?”

“Would you like me to lecture on how exactly proper table manners are done, or shall we head to my quarters?”

“…your quarters, please,” Julian said, because contrary to popular belief he did have _some_ idea of when to stop. “You can fill me in on the finer points once I’m there.”

Garak chuckled, “Of course, my dear, I did not assume otherwise.” He took Julian’s arm, in public, without any apparent thought for the damage to Julian’s reputation he’d claimed to be so concerned about during that desperate argument after Julian returned from the other universe, and the two of them set off back towards the habitat ring.


End file.
